


your heart taking root in your body

by vincetsemper



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Porn With Plot, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vincetsemper/pseuds/vincetsemper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione has her misgivings. Draco wants her to abandon them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your heart taking root in your body

_you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for._

OOO

They pass each other in the crowded corridors of the Ministry and it’s as if the space shrinks, closing in on her and there is nowhere else to run. Draco’s cool grey eyes lock with hers until she passes by, her sensible shoes rapping smartly on the marble as she picks up her pace in a frantic bid to remove herself from his presence.

Hermione is barricaded in her office a minute later, heart beating wildly, the smell of expensive, but deliciously light cologne lingering. _Lingering_ even though she does not want it to.

OOO

_Consider the hairpin turn. It is waiting for you like a red door or the broken leg of a dog._

OOO

He is a blonde smudge in the corner of her eye and though she is seated opposite Harry in the cafeteria with the remains of a chicken mayo sandwich in front of her, clearly deep in conversation, he saunters over until that smudge eclipses everything else and there's no way to escape.

Malfoy leans over their table, nodding at Harry and passing him a yellow memo that unfolds with a tap of his wand. Harry frowns as his eyes trip over the words.

_Meeting. Two o’ clock._

“Now?”

“Yes, Robards was quite insistent actually. He wants to see all the junior Aurors before he assigns new cases after last week’s debacle courtesy of dear _mindless_ Sturridge.”

He groans.

“Granger,” Malfoy offers by way of greeting when he finally meets her gaze. His most insufferable smirk is twisting his mouth when he sees her poking at the crusts of her bread miserably. Harry drains his cup of the last of his tea. “I haven’t seen _you_ around in a while. Still pushing paper in MLE?”

“Malfoy,” she returns stiffly. “I see you’re a messenger boy now. Did your cushy Auror job somehow fall through?”

It doesn’t take much for his expression to shutter, for his silvery eyebrows to knit together over hardening grey eyes. Draco opens his mouth to retort, to spit bitter words at her, but Harry’s chair scrapes as he gets up and both their heads snap in his direction, defusing what could have been an explosive argument. The tension is still there though. It is always there.

“Sorry to cut lunch short, Hermione,” Harry apologises as he gathers his things, throwing his coat over his arm and clapping Draco, whose gaze is still positively murderous, on the back. “I’ll make it up to you some time next week, all right?”

Hermione nods, pushing the spoon around and around in her teacup, chewing on her bottom lip as her stomach turns and turns and her eyes focus on nothing at all. Her best friend blinks at her, confused by her distant behaviour, but does not press the issue and offers her a gentle smile.

The two of them leave and only when they are a comfortable distance away, does she turn her head to watch his smart black robes billow before he rounds the corner.

OOO

_you cannot make out all the words, but you're sure he knows you're in there, and he's singing to you, even though you don't know who he is._

OOO

Hermione bumps into him and her arms are full of closed case folders destined for the dusty archives. They spill and she thanks her neurotic behaviour for sealing each of them shut so the papers don’t fly loose.

Draco stoops down and helps her pick them up, mouth pressed together in a thin line of irritation as he shuffles them into a neat pile before handing them to her. Their fingertips brush and she pulls back almost immediately. _Not here. Not in public._

“Thank you,” she mumbles, stepping around him.

He calls softly after her, but she pretends not to hear.

As she hastens away from him, Hermione ducks her head, wishing in some reluctantly acknowledged part of her that she had thought to do more to herself than just pull a brush through her hair. Her skin is dry because of the winter chill; her lips chapped and just shy of uncomfortable. The skirt she is wearing, though warm and practical, is unflattering. On a good day, her hair is wild and on a day like today, it would probably be more correct to say that a whirlwind had left her worse for wear.

The archives are empty and dark and she quickly begins filing the reports away, from oldest to most recent, ignoring the thrum of disquiet in her veins.

She does not know when she became this fearful of running into him. It really was more of a gradual thing. Maybe after the first time, she was wary, still on this side of curious. But now anxiety blossoms in her chest every time she sees him. He does not seek her out, but he does not avoid her either and his careful nonchalance is infuriating and mocking all at once.

Hermione lets out a great shuddering breath and leans against the filing cabinet.

His eyes hold a promise for all the world to see.

_Soon._

OOO

_The one in front will want to take you apart, and slowly. His deft and stubby fingers searching every shank and lock for weaknesses._

OOO

Hermione finds out how soon mere hours later. Her office is nothing more than a glorified shoebox off the main corridor and it is seems even smaller when confronted by Draco Malfoy sitting behind her desk in her seat as though he has every right to be there.

She slams the door shut in a panic, hoping no curious eyes were peering over her shoulder. And almost immediately, she realises how impossibly stupid that was because now he has her exactly where he wants her.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione demands. 

“Well, it seems like I can never get a private audience with the most famous muggleborn of them all,” he comments dryly, “so I thought I’d take matters into my own hands.”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” Hermione snaps.

He smirks, flicking his fringe from his eyes with a nonchalant hand. “You clock off in five minutes, Granger. I think you do.”

“Fine! I don’t _want_ to do this right now. I have a busy weekend ahead of me what with all the mess ups coming from _your_ department and I just want to leave here in peace!”

Draco cocks his head, surveying her while she scowls darkly at him.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

She does not deny it and Malfoy gets to his feet with intent heavy in his movements. He backs her against the door and glares down at her balefully.

“Is it because Weasel King’s been sniffing around lately? Is that it?”

Alarmed, she shakes her head. Ron _had_ been a little friendlier of late, but that was more for Harry’s benefit than anything else. Their breakup had been a messy affair, one that put their best friend in the middle of it. For Harry’s sake they were trying to reach a middle ground that didn’t involve either a shouting match or the cold shoulder.

“Then have you finally grown bored of me, Granger? Tired of sneaking around, is that it? Thought you’d at least be Gryffindor enough to tell me to my face instead of leaving me hanging like some fucking lovesick twat.”

By the end of his little tirade, his cheeks are pink, his eyes somewhat on the wild side and she has the inexplicable urge to kiss him.

So she does.

OOO

_The sun shines down. It's a beautiful day. Consider the hairpin turn. Do not choose sides yet._

OOO

His flat is familiar. Even after stumbling through the floo half tangled in him as she has done more times than she can count over the last few months, she knows the lay of the furniture even in the dark.

His bedroom is neat and simple his bed decked out with navy blue sheets of fine cotton. Hermione says nothing as she hurriedly sheds her coat, her gloves and her scarf, dropping them on the floor before turning back to him.

Draco is right in front of her. He takes her face into his hands and kisses her. Hungry. Urgent. Heat coils in the pit of her stomach.

_“Granger,”_ he breathes, as she makes quick work of his shirt. _“Hermione.”_

_“Don’t,”_ she snaps, still refusing to meet his gaze. The buttons of his crisp white shirt _pop pop pop._ She hates that she feels so guilty about who she so happens to be fucking, with ever increasing frequency. Hates that she is hiding this from her friends, hates herself for placing them both in a situation that is likely to end up hurting them both. Because it isn’t really about the sex anymore. Not for him. And it seems not to be for her either.

Draco’s shirt is on the floor. Her fingers are raking gentle lines down his lean torso, pausing at his nipples where she knows he is sensitive. Hermione swallows his moan, silencing him, silencing whatever he was about to say. Because he was always trying to say something and _that was not how this was supposed to work._

She shimmies out of her skirt, peels off her stockings. He works her blouse from her body, walking her backwards into the mattress and crawling over her as she stares up at him steadily. His eyes flick over her ravaged mouth, the slow movement of the muscles in her neck as she swallows heavily, the rise and fall of her chest, dusky nipples peeking through the innocent white lace. 

Draco dips his head, mouthing one taut peak through her bra while thumbing the other, enjoying the desperate hitch in her breath, the way she arches up to meet him. Hermione's small hands smooth over the pale expanse of his shoulders. They move to his head, into his hair and she _tugs_ and he smirks. She wants more, but she never says it, preferring to show it in the way she moulds herself into him and the low moans that ripple upwards.

With a certain self-assured smile on his lips, he snakes his hand underneath her, unsnaps her bra and tosses it aside. Hermione surges up to meet him, demanding and forceful in the way she seeks the attentions of his mouth.

This is how he knows her, fierce fiery utterly _frustrating._ And _Merlin_ he wants her so much.

She sighs against him when he cups her breast, teasing around but never directly on the hardened point of her nipple. Draco is maddening, all consuming and she is burning a little more of herself on the flame of the candle as she dances around him in this ever-shrinking elliptical orbit.

Silly stupid moth.

He breaks free of her and presses kisses to the curve of her jaw, from below her ear to her chin, slowly, _tenderly_ and she is shaking beneath his touch, unsure and scared. He lays a trail of kisses down her front, pausing to delicately swirl his tongue in her navel. His hands are busy, inching up her white utilitarian knickers, fingers hooking themselves into the hem, bringing them down and off.

Still he does not lavish his attention on the part of her that so desperately needs him. Instead, he kisses behind her knee, slowly working his way up. His lips meet her hipbone and it’s open mouthed and wet on her creamy skin.

_“Malfoy,”_ she hisses. 

He smiles lazily before parting her folds and blowing once. Hermione shrieks and bucks her hips. Draco holds her down, his gaze flicking up to meet hers before he dips his head.

One painfully slow lick up the length of her draws a high whine from her throat. Draco licks and sucks at her expertly, knowing exactly where she is sensitive, what will prolong her high, what will cause her to climax in her a matter of seconds _two fingers curling inside her, insistent pressure on her hard little clit._ Hermione’s fingers card in his soft hair, pulling him and that tongue of his closer and closer still.

He works her up, patient and tender and it’s all she can do to not panic when she realises in some dim corner of her mind just how deep in she is.

She cries out, a high breathy thing that makes him even harder and he is determined to hear that again. He licks down her slit, spreading her open, sucking her as if she is ripe split peach. Hermione squirms away from him.

“No,” she pants, “Ne— Need you in me, please, _please_ Draco.”

He almost laughs, a bitter thing that twists in his throat. She is so desperate for him behind closed doors and outside of them she does not dare acknowledge whatever this thing between them is.

She draws him up, kissing him hungrily while spreading her legs to accommodate him.

He slides in easily and his hips move languidly, fingers biting into her waist when she arches up. The rolling wave of familiarity is welcome. Hermione knows his body as he knows hers. She hooks one leg over his hip, the solidity of him against her reassuring and warm. With one hand, he teases her breast, drawing the nipple into aching points before licking over it tenderly.

Their rhythm slows and the lull in their movement prompts a frown from her. She pushes at his shoulder, pleased by the way he gives in and rolls them both over. His hands settle on her hips, guiding her over his cock as she rises and falls atop him. He strains upward, capturing her mouth in a desperate kiss. Their lips move together as he finds the seat of her pleasure, stroking once twice, before pinching her clit.

Hermione cries out, biting down on Draco’s lip, her hips moving erratically as the heat floods her veins and the pleasure is enough to make her limp and loose.

Draco flips them over once more, folds one of her legs up to rest against his chest. The other follows, opening her up wider. He groans at the feeling and buries his face in her neck, thrusting into her, pumping his hips as he seeks his own release. She devours him with kisses, swallowing his groan when he spills inside of her.

They kiss with eyes open, his full of an unspoken challenge, hers full of doubt and indecision.

OOO

_There is an empty space next to you in the backseat of the station wagon. Make it the shape of everything you need. Now say hello._

OOO

For a few peaceful minutes, they say nothing. She is tucked under his arm, her head against his shoulder, idly running her fingers over his chest. It is the most domestic moment she has allowed herself with him and she finds she likes it.

“You should probably go.”

She blinks. Hermione is usually the one who extricates herself from his hold, slips out of his flat like a thief in the night. He’s never been the one who told her to leave.

But she does not argue and she dresses in silence, preparing herself for her escape.

“Do let me know when the great Hermione Granger deigns to grace me with her presence again,” he mutters bitterly as he pulls on a pair of pyjama shorts. 

“Malfoy, you’re being ridiculous.”

Of course he is everything but. He is a shade more than furious, he is confused and he is _hurt._

He stares at her long and hard and seems to come to a decision. Draco’s features harden and he looks as though he has her figured out.

“Of course, _how_ could I have seen it any other way? The Muggleborn Princess would never have taken a meaningless _fuck_ with the slimy, questionably-reformed Death Eater seriously.”

She slaps him and her gasp is caught somewhere in her lungs. “Don’t you _dare…”_

He does not flinch, does not break their gaze. 

Instead, he steps closer and snarls: “You want this. You want _me._ But you’re too damn scared to go after what you want because you think you’ll upset people along the way. So, tell you what, Granger? Let me know when you’re done with your existential crisis and I’ll see if I can pencil you in. I’m a very busy man, you know. I don’t have time to sit around while you decide whether or not you’re going to cut me loose.”

“This is not about you!”

The blinding fury that unfurls on his face pushes her on before he can get a word in.

“The problem isn’t you!” she rewords it quickly.

“It’s about me and how this doesn’t make a lick of sense but I want it _anyway._ It’s about the very fact that I _know_ what other people will think, but I’m finding I care less and less.”

The naked hope in his eyes is so heartbreakingly beautiful, Hermione isn’t sure she will be able to get the words out without rushing forward and meeting his lips. She pauses, now frowning at the small smile that is tugging the corners of his lips up. 

“Would you wipe that insufferable smirk off your face, you great big _prat?_ This is hardly the time for you to mock me. I’m on the verge of doing something that will probably hurt Ron, make me a social pariah and bring the overwhelming scorn of the Wizarding World down upon me.”

“And what would that be?”

It is her turn to smirk now and when she speaks, she feels lighter than she has in months.

“Draco Malfoy, what do you say to not caring _at all?_ I’ve heard life’s more fun that way.”

As he pulls her to him, he can’t help but think she has a point.

**Author's Note:**

> shifting all my things from ff.net here because that site is a fucking dick and i hate it.


End file.
